


The Man with Two Souls

by TheJadeSongbird



Series: Hogwarts School of Birds and Cyborgs [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, RWBY
Genre: James is Cedric, M/M, Qrow is Harry, The Reincarnation AU no one asked for.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8015104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJadeSongbird/pseuds/TheJadeSongbird





	The Man with Two Souls

“There, look."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Next to the dark girl with the frizzy hair."  
  
"Wearing the glasses?"  
  
"Did you see his face?"  
  
"Did you see his scar?"  
  
“Wait--why are his eyes red?”  
  
“Do you think it’s something to do with You-Know-Who?”  
  
“You know I can hear you, right? Just throwing that out there.” The surrounding students craning their necks to get a view of the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ promptly shut their mouths and recoiled backwards.  There was silence as they watched as the girl next to him frowned and murmured something —only to huff and move away when obviously rebuffed.  
  
It didn’t seem to bother him in the least, The-Boy-Who-Lived.  Harry Potter’s eyes flew upwards to look at the stars reflected in the enchanted ceiling, hands buried deep in his robe-pockets as his shoulders fell forwards-- slouching as the Sorting Hat slowly called up the first years one by one.  
  
“Abbot, Hannah!”  
  
“HUFFLEPUFF!”  
  
“Bones, Susan”  
  
“HUFFLEPUFF!”  
  
“Boot, Terry”  
  
“RAVENCLAW!”  
  
Slow. Too slow. The names trickled by slowly—not everyone was a quick sort. The Bow-Who-Lived seemed to grow more and more impatient as time went on; leaning back on his heels, rolling his shoulders, and fidgeting with charcoal streaked hair.   
  
“MacDougal Mor---Mister Potter, settle _down_.” Said boy’s head jerked up for a moment, before he sighed at the realization that _no—_ it wasn’t his turn yet. “You’re making the other first years nervous.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”  The glare he got from McGonagall was searing enough that half the school thought that Potter must have been a bit scrambled from getting hit with the Killing Curse if he was willing to dare snarking at the Deputy Headmistress.  
  
The other thought he was just crazy. Perhaps it was a bit of both, but as the line continued on,  Potter continued to be a general nuisance. More than one teacher shot him a glare—Snape looked ready to murder him right then.  More than one student on the spot made bets on how long it would be until the Dungeons Bat blew a gasket and hexed him right there.  
  
“Patil, Padama”  
  
“RAVENCLAW!”  
  
“Patil, Pavarti”  
  
“GRYFFINDOR”  
  
“Perks, Sally-Anne”  
  
“HUFFLEPUFF!”  
  
“Potter, Har—“ The crowd erupted into murmurs as Potter stalked forwards, grabbing the Hat in a fluid motion and half-sprawling onto the stool. The hat itself was big enough that it just obscured the smirk that appeared on his face.  
  
“Well, finally. _So,_ what’s the verdict?”  
  
McGonagall looked like she’d swallowed a lemon, and the Hat let out a yelp. Potter waved it off.  
  
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Carry on and all that?”  The Sorting Hat grumbled and groaned and started muttering under its breath. A minute passed. Two. Three.  
  
_You’re simply not book-smart enough Mister…._  
  
_Excuse me—I’m plenty smart. Just put me in Ravenclaw, got it?_  
  
_Mister Potter--_  
  
_I said **put me in the bird house.**_  
  
_Mister Potter it simply doesn’t **work**  like that!_  
  
_Why not? I think it works plenty fine! Damn, you’re just like Jimmy when you’re stuck on something---_  
  
_Jimmy? As in James Ironwood?_  
  
A pause, and the entire hall had to cover their ears at the ungodly screech that the Sorting Hat let out, muffling the cackle from the boy underneath.  
  
“OKAY, FINE, FINE, I’LL TELL YOU!” A cough. “CEDRIC DIGGORY, PLEASE STAND UP!”  
  
At that moment, all eyes turned to the dark haired fourth year at the Hufflepuff table who’d been mid-conversation with another student. Cedric Diggory stood cautiously, turning to look at the hat.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“THERE. IT’S HIM. ARE YOU HAPPY?” Potter lifted up the brim of the hat, and everyone watched as Cedric Diggory went rigid, blinking sharply before sighing.  Potter laughed.  
  
“Yeah. Now about that—“  
  
“GRYFFINDOR! I’M SORRY MISTER POTTER, BUT WE DON’T SORT PEOPLE ON HOW MUCH OF A BIRD THEY WANT TO BE!”

  
Harry Potter seemed to ignore the uproar—a combination of startled cries, confusion, laughter, and furious murmuring—choosing instead to pull off the Sorting Hat, toss it to the Deputy Headmistress, and skip over to the _wrong table_.  The din grew when he sat down next to Cedric Diggory, throwing his arm around his shoulder and grinning as he pulled him into a quiet conversation. Multiple people strained their ears—at most catching detached snippets of the conversation.  
  
“ _-Jimmy—“_  
  
“—stop that---eleven years old—“  
  
“Aww--- wait---broom closet?”  
  
“Qrow—“  
  
“Mister _Potter!”_   The boy grinned, giving Diggory one last side-hug before jumping up on the bench—bowing heavily, before skipping to the Gryffindor table that was awaiting him with furious applause.  
  
It was official. Harry Potter was _weird._ He was _different_. He was nothing like Hogwarts expected.  
  
And he seemed to have a thing for Cedric Diggory.

* * *

  
  
The entire Hufflepuff table,  Cedric James Diggory realized—was staring at him.  
  
He didn’t like it, choosing instead to focus himself on piling food onto his plate.  If he didn’t look up, no one would ask him about Qrow. They wouldn’t ask him how he knew _Harry Potter The -Boy-Who-Lived._  
  
“Oi, Diggory!” One of the Prefects down the table—Olivia Cattelan if he remembered her name right – poked her head into view. “Since when do you know _Harry Potter?”_  
  
“We’re pen-pals.” He said, looking up only briefly to try and ward her off with a smile. It would have to work as a cover story until he could talk to Qrow— _damn that man for making a scene._  
  
Then again, wasn’t that in his nature? He liked making a scene, making people underestimate him so that if and when he had to strike—no one would see it coming. Ozpin had had a point in making him their spy. It just _worked_.  
  
James just hated being pulled into the crossfire. Especially if he couldn’t control it.  
  
Some of the first years snickered.  
  
“Looked more like he had a shine for you.” A firstie, Macmillian, murmured.  
  
“No way, Harry Potter, _bent?”_  
  
James turned back to his potatoes, quite glad that the chatter had been deflected away from him. An upwards glance at the Gryffindor table had him catch Qrow’s gaze.  
  
_You okay?_  
  
A subtle nod and Qrow grinned and sent him a thumbs up before turning back to his own house. James’s gaze lingered a bit longer, taking in the sight of dark scraggly hair, familiar scarlet eyes.  
  
He was here. James wasn’t alone. This world—Earth—he wasn’t alone here.  There were no Grimm. No White Fang. No Salem as far as he could tell.  
  
It had seemed a near paradise at first, not to mention the fact that he’d had no need for prosthetics this time around.  
  
It hadn’t had anyone he knew though, not until now.  But Qrow Branwen was _here_. And _Harry Potter_.  
  
James almost laughed at that. He was going to absolutely hate his fame.  
  
Almost.  
  
He had to restrain himself from looking over at him too often. Dinner dragged on and by the time that Dumbledore had started speaking, James was ready to cross the room, pick up his fiancé(?) and walk right out the front doors and sit him down for explanations.  
  
He didn’t get the chance, attention sharply drawn elsewhere.  
  
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."  
  
Very few people laughed. And neither James nor Qrow were one of them. James shot him a glance, met with an uncertain nod.  
  
_What the fuck was going on at Hogwarts?_   This stank of something very, very wrong. As a former teacher, James knew that telling someone not to go somewhere due to danger was almost a guarantee that people _would go look._ It was stupid teenage and pre-teenage curiosity.  All of his instincts told him that things were changing. And maybe not for the better.  
  
_We need to talk._  
  
_Yeah._

* * *

 

  
  
Qrow Branwen hadn’t believed in magic until Ozpin had sat him down and explained it to him.  
  
Albus Dumbledore was no Ozpin. Ozpin may have been a cryptic ass at times, but they didn’t walk around in mismatched robes, spout nonsense words, and convince at least half of the entire school to go investigate a dangerous situation.  
  
He forced himself to breathe, to follow the other first years through the winding stairs to the tower and to memorize the password through to the Common Room.  
  
This was bad. This was very bad. And furthermore, he was nowhere in fighting condition. He was small, scrawny. He had no weapon beyond a _twig_.  
  
James. James would know what to do. Or else he’d help him come up with a plan. He could faintly sense his Aura from across the castle—years of practice hadn’t left him when they’d died.  
  
Qrow waved off his roommates, slipping into bed and feigning sleep until the others were out like a light. He waited until snores filled the air like cicadas in Spring, before pulling back the curtain covers and padding over to the window.  
  
He pulled it open, closing his eyes and focusing on the feel of cool hair on his face, between his fingers, beneath his wings.  
  
A twinge of magic, and a small crow took flight out of the window, spiraling downwards towards familiar Aura.  
  
Towards Home.


End file.
